my heart is playing hide and seek (wait and count to four)
by zweebie
Summary: On the field, Klaus runs out too early, turns around just a touch too late. It's terrifying. The thing is, Klaus just doesn't seem to want to care for himself, and that hurts Dave more than he can say. OR, in dying, Klaus realizes what he has to lose.


Dave knows what it's like to be terrified, to know that every second you're alive is a second that you're lucky. He's been serving in the A Shau valley for a little over half a year now, and he'd been fighting for a good chunk of that time. But nothing compares to the shrill panic, the sheer _wrongness, _that thrums in the air now.

The explosion was colossal, white heat everywhere and too much noise for Dave's ears to handle. It leaves the sound around him a foggy, ringing mess. "Oh, no," he murmurs as he pushes himself off the ground. They hadn't been ready. There'd been a mine hidden underneath the wet jungle underbrush, and one of the medics had tripped it. There'd been a plan for this—what was it again? They need to get in formation. But the plan only works if they're ready.

No—the plan only works if they're attacked. There's no way to plan for a trip mine, not really.

God, his thoughts are scrambled.

Dave pushes himself off the ground and turns to the man lying next to him. "Wake up," he says, patting him on the back, rougher when the man doesn't move. "Wake up, come on!" He grabs the man's shoulder and rolls him roughly over (that's not protocol—he needs to go lightly, in case the man's injured. But something tells him there's no time for that). His heart freezes when the man's face comes into view.

It's his Dad. "Oh, no, oh, shit," Dave says, dropping him and crawling over to the woman lying a few feet away. He spins her over. There's a gash across her forehead, presumably from the explosion, and her face is covered in blood, but he'd recognize his mom's face anywhere. "Oh, please God, no." Dave pulls her to him, patting her cheek, a sob rising in his throat. "Please, please—"

"Hey, hey, Dave. Hey, wake up. Wake up."

Dave jerks awake, hands flying up. The tent is dark and quiet, but the adrenaline's racing through him and he can't quite believe that he's not in danger.

Klaus is above him, one hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, whoa, steady there," Klaus says, pulling back. "If you're going to kill me, wait until the seven dwarves have stopped mining in my skull." He's hungover—they'd been out until two in the morning at the disco last night, which was probably why Dave was having nightmares.

(Or it was the trauma thing. One or the other.)

"Klaus," Dave says, grabbing Klaus's arm and holding it like a lifeline. "Klaus, my mom. Oh my god, my mom. The soldiers got her." His heart is still racing, his head is still spinning. Klaus puts his hand over Dave's, and by god, that's the best thing he could do right now, but Dave can't stop the tears from coming.

"Hey, Dave. Look at me, Dave, look at me." Klaus taps Dave's cheek, forcing him to look up. "You're okay, alright? Your family—they're okay. They're at home, they're safe." Yes, yes. They're safe. They're home. But he still can't get the image of his mom's glassy eyes out of his head. The feel of the blood, too. It's all over his hands.

"There was so much blood, Klaus. Oh, my god. It was all over the ground."

"It was just—hey, don't look away from me—it was just a nightmare. It wasn't real."

"It felt—"

"Dave, look around. See all this? The mud, the ugly-ass camo? This is real. Forget the rest." Klaus's voice is steady, and his grip on Dave's hand is strong. But Dave can't let go of the dream.

"It felt so real, Klaus. You—"

"I know, trust me, I know." And Dave looks up at Klaus, and somehow he believes him. Somehow, Klaus, in all of his wild, mildly concerning ways, is the most comforting thing that could happen right now.

It's been a month since Klaus and Dave snuck behind the beaded curtain to the disco bathroom, a month since their first kiss. Two months of touches lasting just too long, nights sharing tears, days out on the field.

It's been four months since Klaus appeared, bloodied and dressed in nothing but a towel, on the ground beside Dave's tent. Klaus has made a million wild explanations—that storks stole him from his home, that he's an alien invader, that he time traveled from the far future. Dave doesn't know what to believe, but knowing Klaus, he just stumbled in by accident after a rave.

It's been three months since Klaus jumped wildly in front of Dave during an ambush, getting grazed in the shoulder for his struggles. Dave had been shocked, horrified. "_I've been through worse," _Klaus had said, and, seeing Dave's dubious look, "_The things I've seen, Davey, you'd never look at me the same." _Klaus was grinning, speaking in his trademark airy tone, but Dave wasn't sure he believed it.

"_Trust me, I know," _Klaus had said. Klaus worries Dave sometimes. The things he says, offhand. The things he does without thinking. The extra drink, the extra pill. Dave isn't a stranger to substances, but he's never seen anyone use them the way Klaus does, and he's had plenty of addicts in his life. Even during the past few years, out on the field, it's distressingly easy to get a hold of marijuana, and he wouldn't look twice if he saw someone smoking. But Klaus has it bad. He doesn't go a free minute without a joint on hand, and when he can't find a joint, he goes for pills. Even when their commanders are in full view, Klaus doesn't let his high escape him. And the ease at which he toes the line—goes over what could easily be considered poison, even—is terrifying. "_Four?" _Klaus would say, with a shrug and a laugh, "_why not?" _

When they're out fighting, too, it's bad. Klaus doesn't pay as much attention to the commanders as he should, doesn't stay as quiet or still as would be safe. He runs out too early, turns around just a touch too late. It's terrifying.

The thing is, Klaus just doesn't seem to care enough to care for himself, and that hurts Dave more than he can say.

Klaus knows what it's like to need to escape, to need to get out and just stand under the vast night sky, thinking of all the other worlds out there. He knows what it's like to feel like the world is closing in on him, what it's like to want to curl into a ball and scream until it all goes away. For reasons he doesn't understand, though, he never does. He never escapes. Even when the world and the sounds and the ghosts and the screams are tearing him apart, crushing him through the floor, he leans into it. He takes another shot, another pill, dances another song. He adds to the pile, burdens himself more, and somehow that makes him feel better.

Klaus is _pretty _sure he doesn't need therapy.

The music is pounding over the speakers. The disco lights are cutting across everything. There are people everywhere yelling, shoulder to shoulder, dancing to a chaotic beat.

Klaus leans over the counter and fills his shot glass himself, downing it in one gulp. He whoops at nothing in particular. The music is still thumping and he still feels like he'll suffocate any moment, but the drink makes it all so blurry and _nice_. (Is it nice? Is that what he's feeling? He can't tell, but he knows he doesn't care enough to, well, care. He giggles at that.)

Klaus looks through the crowd to see Dave coming through the front door.

Everyone else's faces are blending together, but Dave's cuts through them. Dave always cuts through it all, and Klaus always holds onto him like an anchor. What's that expression, though? Concern? Amusement? Klaus can't tell, so he laughs again. "H-hey, Dave," he says as Dave walks up to him. He tries to lean flirtatiously on his chest, but ends up leaning too hard and falling over.

"Hey, Klaus," Dave says quietly, and it sounds like he's trying to say something more, but he's really, really pretty, which is important for Dave to know right _now, _so Klaus interrupts him.

"Has anybody ever told you," Klaus says, "that you're really pretty?" Klaus laughs and tries for another lean, only to fall again. Dave catches him this time, pulling him upright. "My prince charming," Klaus says, tapping Dave on the mouth. Then Klaus leans in and kisses him.

"Oh, shit," Dave mutters, pushing Klaus away. Klaus laughs at his own boldness and leans in again, but Dave spins him around and puts an arm firmly around him.

"What—what are you doing?"

"How many did you have, Klaus?" Dave asks under his breath, shepherding Klaus across the dance floor and over to the doors.

"Only a couple. No, no, don't take me away, I want another—" Klaus hiccups, and laughs again, "another drink. I'll just be a minute, just a minute, I swear." He tries to pull away from Dave, but Dave keeps a firm hold on him. "So strong," Klaus says, tapping Dave on the arm. Dave doesn't say anything, just keeps herding him across the floor. "C'mon, Prince Charming, talk to me." Klaus pouts, but Dave doesn't even look at him. "Hey, hey, I'm not a sheep. Let me go."

Dave doesn't until they get out of the warm, crowded disco, but for some reason Klaus feels just as blurry and trapped as before. The night air outside is wet and hot, not like the crisp breeze of winters back home. Klaus likes this better, he thinks. The cold air reminds him of cold stone, darkness, which reminds him of the—

But he's not there right now. He's not going to think about it. He's free.

"Where are we going?" Klaus mumbles as Dave pulls him into the little alley behind the bar. "Ooh, somewhere more private? Naughty, naughty," he says, grinning, but Dave doesn't laugh like he normally would.

"What was that, Klaus?" he asks instead.

"What do you mean?"

"You tried to kiss me out there! In front of everyone! What was that?" Dave is angry, Klaus realises. Even when he's angry, though, he's still so, so pretty. Klaus smiles. "Are you even listening? Klaus, look at me."

This isn't the Dave Klaus knows. Dave is the sunny one, the bright one, the one that's always there for a laugh or a hand or a hug or a kiss. The first one that had the decency to approach the scrawny junkie sitting alone. The only one that stuck with him.

Dave isn't always joyful, of course. There are nights when Klaus wakes up to him tossing, crying out in his sleep. "My mother, my mom, oh my god, they're all dead," he'd say when Klaus laid a hand on his. Dave was afraid, and Klaus held him through the night, trusting that the other soldiers in the tent wouldn't wake and see them, because even that small show of affection is enough to get you ostracized here. Nineteen-sixty-eight is a wild time.

Dave open and quiet and brash and soft, but he's never mad. "Where's fun Dave? I want him back," Klaus says now, pouting.

"Klaus," Dave says, shaking his head and not meeting Klaus's eyes, "I'm afraid. For you."

"I'm five—" Klaus giggles, "I'm fine, I mean, I'm fine! I'm sehr gut, my friend. You're the one who's acting like Five. Lighten up a little!"

"You've been going out. Doing stupid things. I don't know, like getting drunk enough to try and kiss me on the dance floor! You know that people can see us." He's doing the thing where he enunciates every word, which Klaus knows means he's upset.

"I can't help it, I'm sorry," Klaus says, and reaches up to trace Dave's jaw with his finger. It's totally inappropriate, Klaus knows, but he's really pretty. Has Klaus said that already? Dave Katz is really, really pretty.

"This—" Dave shoves Klaus's hand away and steps back, "isn't gonna do, you're too drunk."

Klaus's hand falls limp. A thrum of fear goes through him, and he feels something rising in his throat. "Are you—are you breaking up with me?"

"What? No," Dave says, but Klaus isn't convinced. Dave hasn't ever acted like this before, and, well, Klaus has been waiting for it. He's never allowed to be so happy for so long; the feeling of tears rising has gotten familiar.

"No, no, no, it's fine. It's fine. Trust me, I'm used to it," Klaus says, hastily wiping his face with his hands.

"Wait, Klaus—" Dave reaches out to touch Klaus's shoulder, but Klaus pushes his hand away.

"Really, really, spare me the speech, I'll just go," Klaus says, voice breaking on _I'll_. He reaches to grab his things. It takes him a moment to remember he doesn't have any, so he straightens again, laughing a little at himself.

"No, Klaus, dammit, I'm not breaking up with you!" Dave says, and Klaus looks back. "I'm worried. About you."

"You're not—this isn't a goodbye?" Klaus asks, feeling a little weak. It's like he's being yanked in one direction one second, a completely different one the next. What is going on?

"No, Klaus, of course not," Dave says. His voice is tender, and Klaus feels a string pull taut in his chest.

"Oh, thank christ," Klaus says quietly, and he can't say anything more. Both because he's not sure what that is, pulling at his heart, and because, "uh oh—"

He turns and vomits on the floor.

"Oh, boy," Dave says, and reaches down to grab Klaus from under the shoulders. "Let's get you home."

These past four months have been a rollercoaster for Klaus. A rollercoaster of drunken, wild nights, loud and bloody battles, quiet thrills, stunning smiles, and silent grief. Things aren't good, exactly—more and more often as time goes on, Klaus will add another bloodstained former friend to his pretty little collection. (They only show up when they want to, and they rarely do for him. Klaus supposes that if he was a ghost, he wouldn't manifest for the disaster junkie either.) Every time someone close dies—too often for Klaus's taste, although it's not like he can control it—their team sits on the floor after lights out, lighting the gas lamp, and tells stories of them. It's awful, the hours of quiet tears. But they hear of people getting lost in statistics after the war, and they aren't letting their friends get forgotten.

Each time it happens, though, Klaus feels another crack go through his already fragile self. _(Ooh, that's poetic. Ben would be proud.)_

Poeticism aside, Klaus feels like he's barely holding himself together on a good day. Each time he takes a pill he knows he's failing himself. Each time he picks up a gun he knows he's failing his morals. Each time he wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating and crying, and can't summon his friends, he knows he's failing his dad. And the few times that he does summon them, something inside him breaks. He doesn't know why.

Things aren't good, exactly, but there are times when he almost feels content. That's new. When him, Dave, and their friends are sitting in their tents on the long, hot days, waiting for an order or a gunshot, playing cards and lazing about in the sun. Talking. Laughing. James has a guitar, and he plays _You Are My Sunshine _and _Oh, Susanna_ while they all sing. It's loud in a quiet way, chaotically peaceful. Klaus has never felt that before.

Things aren't good, exactly, but there are certain times when Klaus almost feels happy. Late nights out under the foreign sky, talking quietly with Dave about the good old times. Dave tells Klaus about his family, and Klaus, well, Klaus tells him about his own. He tells Dave wild stories—that they live on the moon, that he was raised by wolves. But he never quite gets close to telling Dave the truth. Maybe because even though no one he's ever known has taken him seriously, he wants Dave to. And he'd so much rather Dave just think he's got a wild imagination than that he's insane. Dave matters to Klaus, even though Klaus doesn't want to admit it. Because if Dave matters, Klaus doesn't know what he'll do. That would change everything.

But as soon as he's alone and it's dark, Klaus feels the edges of himself beginning to unravel. It's a familiar feeling.

That's why he's drunk again—no, not _drunk, _just an itty bitty bit tipsy—the next day. That's why when they're walking ahead on the jungle path he doesn't quite retreat fast enough. He hears the yelled "_Back," _he swears he hears it, but he doesn't quite turn fast enough, and then he sees the soldiers rush out of the bushes and sees a flash and _oh god that noise he's never been able to _stand _the noise_—

It happens so fast.

"Oh, no," he says, looking down, trying for a smile, because doesn't that always make it all better? There's a searing pain in his chest and his vest is quickly turning red. "That's not a good. . ." _sign, _he wants to say, but his mouth stops working, and he's dimly aware of gunshots erupting around him, dimly aware of the screamed "_Klaus!"_ That's Dave's voice, isn't it? This would be the perfect time to crack a joke, make everyone laugh, make things easier, but his brain is going fuzzy, and he can't hear or see and the ground hits him hard in the head (wait, that doesn't make sense)—

Dave knows what it's like to be helpless, to feel parts of him torn out while he just stands and watches. He knows what it's like to feel his heart breaking but not to know how to stop it.

That's not what he feels as Klaus falls slowly to the ground. First to his knees, then onto his side. He doesn't feel the deep, burning pain, he doesn't remember all the good times they've had, he doesn't shed a tear, at least at first.

All he can think is _no. No, no, no, this isn't happening._

Somehow through the shock and pain, Dave and the rest of their group manage to gun down the Vietnamese soldiers. The Vietnamese had clearly been waiting to ambush them, but the American soldiers outnumber them by half. It's a quick slaughter.

The second the haze of bullets quiets and the dust clears, Dave runs forward, falling onto his knees next to Klaus.

"Hey, c'mon, wake up," he says, rolling Klaus onto his back and patting him on the cheek. He has the strange sense of _deja vu. _He's been here before, except then, the body on the ground was something else, and then there was ash and smoke mingling with the blood.

He's been here before, but he's never been able to dream the idea of Klaus lying there, so, so, still, the blush blooming over his vest. There's dirt on his face, and Dave tries fruitlessly to wipe it off. "Wake up, c'_mon, _please, please wake up," he says, and he realises as he says it that he's sobbing. "Dammit, Klaus, dammit! I told you, I warned you." Sobs are wrenching through his chest, and he doesn't know what to do, where to go, how to fix this. _It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream. _

But Klaus's eyes are still, unseeing, and he isn't waking up.

Klaus opens his eyes inside a disco. He can't quite tell whether he recognizes it or not. His head is a little fuzzy, and he can swear he hears music coming from far away. There's a nice, swaying feeling, like he's drunk. Klaus can't quite put the color situation into words—it's definitely not normal, but he's not sure if the colors are leeched out or if they've just been replaced with something he can't comprehend. The bar is wooden and Klaus leans on it.

"What do we have here?" he asks when he sees a little girl come out from the door behind the bar. "Yoohoo!"

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," the girl says, looking at him from beneath furrowed brows.

"Do I know you?"

"I don't know. Do you know this place?" There's something unnerving about her—she's young, but she's oh so old at the same time. And Klaus feels like he recognizes her, but he can't be quite sure.

"I'm not sure," Klaus says.

"Think about it," the girl says, and she turns and walks through the staff-only door behind the bar. Klaus turns and leans back against the counter, looking lazily over everything. He walks over to the front door. It swings open easily, but there's nothing outside it. And by nothing, he means actually nothing. It's just a sheer drop into a white, empty abyss.

He hums. This doesn't seem too strange to him, even though he can see a quiet street through the windows.

Klaus hears the sound of a door opening and closing behind him, and he turns. "Hey, uh," he says as the girl starts pouring drinks behind the bar, "I think I do remember this place. It's a little hazy, but. . ." The memory comes to him slowly, and a smile spreads across his face. ". . .my, um, me and my buddies used to come here when we were off duty." Drunken smiles, loud music. It's the sort of music Klaus listened to back home, and he loves it. That's why he didn't recognize this place—the lights were off, the music silenced. It's like a whole other room without them. And then—"Oh, no, oh, shit," Klaus mutters, one hand raised to his mouth. Dave and him, dancing across this floor. This was where they had their first kiss. But the other memories are returning, too. Klaus turns and stands up, leaning across the counter a little and tapping his fingers on the wood. "I don't have a lot of time, at least I don't think I do, so, um, could you maybe, possibly tell me where I am? And how I can get out, pretty please?"

_The sharp pain in his chest. Dave's scream._

"I never asked you to stay," the girl says, like she's actually taking his order.

"No, see, but the problem is, there's a bit of an endless abyss out the front door. And I think there's someone waiting for me, back—back there," Klaus says, waving his hand generally behind him. He feels a new panic rising, and it's leaking into his voice a little. "Is there maybe a back door? A side entrance, per se?"

"This is interesting," the girl says, not sounding interested. "You aren't usually this eager to go back down there."

"Sorry—usually? Do I know you?" And then, "Wait, wait, wait. Down there? Am I," Klaus whispers conspiratorially, "in heaven?"

"That's what some people call it."

Klaus doesn't have time for this. "Listen, I'm really sorry, and I'm having oh so much fun here talking to you, but I really gotta go."

"I would say hurry, but it seems you've got more time than you should. You're going to need to go back eventually, you know."

Klaus knows somehow that she's talking about the time travel. The briefcase has stayed with him everywhere they've gone, kicked under the bench in the vans and hidden under his cot in the tents, but he's never seriously considered using it. "Yeah, yeah, responsibilities and such. _My family is depending on me_. I've heard it. Could you please send me back?" Klaus asks, a hint of a whine creeping into his voice.

"Fine," the girl says, sounding bored. She turns and walks through the door behind the bar.

"Wait, what about me?" Klaus asks, an icy fist closing around his heart. "Hey, wait!" He clambers over the bar, but the door shuts just before he can follow her through. He grabs the doorknob and yanks, but it holds fast. "Come back!" he yells, banging on the wood. "Please, you don't understand, I can't be stuck here!"

Klaus can't take this. If he hadn't taken that final drink, if he'd been paying attention to instructions, then he would be alive, fighting with Dave right now. Suddenly Klaus's wishes for death make no sense. Sure, he'd be out there fighting, and he would lose friends. He wouldn't be taken seriously, and he would be beaten up in an alley by men with shaven heads for dressing the way he does. But he had so many little miracles. His friends, his family. Shit, his family. They were probably waiting for him in two-thousand-nineteen. He hadn't ever said goodbye. _Why the hell hadn't he said goodbye?_

Klaus had his friends, he had his family, and he had Dave.

He had Dave, but now maybe Klaus'll never see him again. He'll never hear the stories Dave comes up with on late nights, he'll never see his quiet smile, or hear his open laugh. He'll never sing another song with his friends, never stay up counting the stars or making plans for life beyond the war.

Because there is life beyond Klaus's suffering, and now—because he'd never believed in it—he might never experience it. "Dammit! Shit!" Klaus yells, kicking the door. He feels the fight go out of him, and he leans his forehead against the wood, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. His time was up and he'd wasted it. _Dammit. _"Please," he whimpers, but it's not like he's expecting an answer. He's pathetic.

Then, finally, the world starts to blur. It frays at the edges, pulling in in a way that he feels like he's experienced before. Everything about this place, in fact, feels just a little bit familiar, but he can't think about that over the rush of relief, the rush of _happiness, _that he feels when he sees Dave's face over him.

Beautiful Dave.

Klaus's memories from the last few minutes are leaving him fast, but he doesn't care enough to try and hold onto them. All he knows is that he almost died, almost lost Dave, and that he has him back again now.

Klaus jumps up, grabbing at Dave's hands, his face, with shaking fingers. "Oh, thank god," he and Dave mutter at the same time, and Klaus laughs breathlessly. Dave gives a watery smile, looking down at Klaus with shining eyes.

"Oh, oh, I thought I'd—" Klaus says, "I thought I'd lost you."

"You motherfucker, Klaus. Don't ever do that again," Dave says, and Klaus grins shakily. Dave pulls Klaus in, and it's only when Klaus hears the shout of the nurse that he realises where he is. They're in the medic tent, but it's nighttime, and quieter than usual.

"No touching the patient!" the nurse calls, and Dave lets go of him slowly, like it pains him.

It's ridiculous, but Klaus can't help feeling the fear that always comes when he's here. He grips Dave's sleeve, tight.

"I gotta, I gotta get out of here." The medic tent is hell for Klaus. Always teeming with ghosts, and always lost ones. All the soldiers killed on the battlefield are lost ghosts. Nowhere to go, no family to stay with, at least not nearby. These ghosts were the worst ones, and since Klaus had known them in life, they pester him constantly. He'd been friends with them, and that was what makes it so torturous. Death changes people somehow, sometimes. Ghosts are hungrier, rougher, more violent. And even when they aren't, Klaus can't bear to see his best friends staring off listlessly, covered in blood.

"Klaus, that's crazy. You just got shot. You just almost—"

"Died? I'm well aware," Klaus says, but he knows for some reason that he's fine. There's no pain, he's moving easily. It's nothing like when he was shot in the shoulder his first week here. It had been just a scratch, but it had hurt like hell until it healed. "But look," he says, opening his vest and pulling his bandaging aside (holding up a hand to stop the cry of protest from the nurse) "I'm fine! See?" The bandage is bloody, but the skin is white and smooth. "Fine."

"What the hell?" Dave murmurs, reaching out and touching Klaus's chest, then pulling his hand back deliberately. It's not a romantic gesture, but, well. Nineteen-sixty-eight is a wild time. "What?"

"Just one of my many talents, I suppose," Klaus says, and he goes to push himself up.

"I—" Dave sighs, gives him a look like _you'd better explain this to me later_. "Wait," he says, and grabs Klaus by the shoulder. His voice drops. "Promise me," it hitches, "promise me no more drinking before duty."

Klaus looks into Dave's eyes and he understands, for once. He's found something to keep him here, to keep him anchored. "No drinks," he says.

"And no more—what happened at the bar. Not happening again."

"I know, I do, I get it."

"Klaus, I'm serious. You gotta take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," Klaus says, and he means it. "I'm serious too."

And he is. Serious. For once. He's found someone he loves, and he's not letting himself lose it.


End file.
